


Mukaebi

by Kuruccha



Category: Gintama
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Gen, Japanese Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4819403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuruccha/pseuds/Kuruccha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>«You came back with the spirits of the dead and pretend everything still is as you left it,» she says finally. «Looks like another illusion of Obon.»</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mukaebi

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thing is huge and my English is hopelessly horrible, but I liked this concept way too much to let it fade. As to say: watch me while I create the background story nobody asked for.  
> Again, I tried my best, and I’m so sorry for all of the horrible mistakes you’ll find in here.

«So that’s why I want to go back home, hahahaha!»

His laughter echoes against the metallic walls of her cabin and Mutsu can feel her headache growing distinctly from the back of her cranium up to her temples.

She doesn’t even move her gaze from the papers on her desk. «Back on Earth.»

«To Tosa!»

Mutsu has no idea of where that Tosa-named place could be; she doesn’t even know if it’s in the same zone of Japan they usually land, or if  it’s up in a mountain, or in another island. Earth always seemed so small and so crowded, so she guesses distance won’t be that much of a problem anyway.

«Do as you like. Not that you need any permission, anyway,» she tells him in the end.«We’re used to your disappearing. I guess we’ll pick you up at Oryou’s.» She traces an horizontal streak on the last line of the document she’s working on.

«I’d like you to come as well.»

His request perplexes her.

«What about the fleet?»

«We’ll descend to the Harbour. To make some maintenance.»

«That’s impossible. Third and fifth division ships are about their destination. Plus, seventh is ready to go.»

«Then let it go, hahahaha!»

Mutsu grabs her forehead; the throb of her headache is more and more persistent.

She draws another horizontal streak on her paper, noting with irritation it’s not perfectly parallel to the previous.

«It’s a rough time, Sakamoto. Worst weekend for your unplanned trips. Maybe if you postpone everything to next month, then maybe we’ll have time to…»

«But Obon is in these days. Next month won’t work.»

«Obon? The festival of the dead?» She remembers hearing about it from some of the members of Kaientai, during the past years, but her knowledge goes no further the simple meaning of the term. «I’m sure it’s just an excuse. You didn’t go back home for Obon last year.»

«That’s ‘cause dad was still alive last year, hahahah!»

The revelation takes her by such surprise she almost forgets about her headache, all of her paperwork and everything else. «Dad?»

«Yeah.»

She looks him straight – he still has that annoying smile on his face, as if the matter didn’t concern him at least – and she can’t help but guessing if he attended the burial ceremony, and if he did hide it on purpose, and when it did happen. In which of the thousand times they went picking him up at Snack Smile, or at Gintoki’s, not knowing, not even imagining.

«I’m sorry,» she says, then. «You can go for sure. I’ll stay here and manage everything.»

«I’d like you to come as well,» he repeats, and Mutsu knows him well enough to understand that there’s probably a reason behind his request. Or, if there isn’t any, she knows he’ll insist anyway up to the point he persuades her.

She moves her gaze back to the desk; she examines the stack of papers on her right, then the pile on her left. She scribbles something on her notebook.

«All right,» she grants. «I’ll see how I can manage it.»

 

*

 

Nobody on the fleet raises questions about their trip to Earth – or nobody raises any to her directly, at least. Mutsu told the whole story only to Granny, and Granny just nodded as like she understood every bit of it, and then asked her for some good food as souvenir.

Their men are trained to make Kaientai work even without them, but it’s the first time Mutsu leaves them for such a long time; she has no doubts on their abilities, but she can’t help swallowing the lump of concern closing her throat. Many ships are on travel; those remaining are moored at their home port in Yokohama, waiting for their return. Granny waves in her direction from the prow of their flagship; Mutsu is still and watches her from under the curve of her hat, wishing nothing goes wrong for any of them.

Sakamoto runs, late as usual; she knows he haggled on the mooring price. His face is tighter than normal; the wrinkles hidden behind his sunglasses betray his concern. It looks like she won’t be the only one travelling with a heavy heart.

 

They take the train and Sakamoto vomits all the time: he’s closed in the toilet for such a long time Mutsu feels like she’s travelling alone. She watches the modern buildings of Edo giving way to lower houses; wooden brown is interspersed by green paddies, white statues of Buddha carved in mountains, ocean blue. It’s a landscape she saw thousand times from up above and very few from the soil; everything flows away, disappearing over the windows of the wagon just a second after. She wonders why he chose the train; they would have been way more rapid with one of their ships.

The wagon bends west imperceptibly and the reflex of sunrays on water peeps through the window. She decides she has seen enough of that Japan, so she pulls the curtain. That’s the exact moment Sakamoto comes back from the toilet and drops himself on the seat near hers.

«How long will it take?» he asks, rubbing his stomach.

She answers with a shrug. «You’re the one knowing where we’re going.»

«Hahahaha!»

She relaxes on her back. The bright spots eluding the curtain screen dance on her, wandering on the fabric of her pants. Her gaze fixes on the suspended rack where she put her hat and all of their suitcases.

«I have no idea of how it works.»

«Works?» he asks. «Obon, you mean?»

She shakes her head. «I bought some sweets. Maybe I should have brought some presents as well.»

«Presents!» he cries. «I forgot!»

She sighs. «Let’s just hope sweets are enough.»

«Who knows, hahahaha!» he replies, scratching his head. «I don’t know who’s going to be there.»

«Hopefully they’re not as big as you.»

He laughs again, but his laughter is different; less forced, maybe. A little bit more light-hearted.

«That’s nice of you,» he says. «Miho will be happy.»

She knows the name; she’s the sister he sometimes mention when he’s drunk and carefree. She always imagined her as a nice little child, as that’s the way he always described her.

«I think I’m gonna have another trip to the toilet, haha- ha-»

He runs away before any reply, and Mutsu is alone again. The reflex of sun rays got a little lighter, but landscape is still hidden behind the heavy fabric of the curtain. She profits by the calm moment to pick up all of the paperworks from her case, then starts working.

 

*

 

They arrive to Tosa late in the afternoon. When they get off the train, Sakamoto needs to remain seated for half an hour before being able to move; Mutsu decides arbitrarily they won’t travel by train to return back.

He gobbles three different energy drinks and the sun starts on its descend towards the horizon. That station is not so different from those Mutsu saw sliding along the journey; it’s small and clean, with tracks surrounded by high walls covered on green ivy. Some kiosks sell ready food and small presents.

They take off their coats; the air is salty and warm and so humid it makes clothes stick on her skin.

«Which direction should we go?» she asks, when they finally step outside. They have been stuck in the station for so long the stationmaster waves them goodbye.

«There,» he says with no doubt, pointing the finger on a low hill. He inhales deeply and his look is clear again. «There.»

It’s dusk, but the last sun rays are strong enough to burn the skin of her fingers clutching the handles of their suitcases; Sakamoto walks three steps ahead and blabbers on this and that, telling her god knows what. He’s nervous and she knows it, but she doesn’t ask nor comment.

 

The sun is definitely down when they see the first fire.

It’s just a small flame, lost in the dark green of the hill they’re coasting; Mutsu thinks of a fire outbreak, but then she hears some children’s busy hum, and watches the flame move in mid-air, never expanding.

«They’re back already, hahahaha!» he laughs, and another flame adds, and then another more; they proceed in a row descending from the top of the hill, as if it was a procession. Some voices are singing; some others are reciting a sutra, with the chirping of cicadas as background. The street fills with people, and suddenly they’re not alone anymore.

«Hurry,» he says, and again he has that bright smile on his face. He takes the baggage from her hand and by mistake he lets it fall on his foot. Mutsu picks it up, then starts walking and lets him follow her.

 

*

 

Sakamoto stops in front of a high gate; the ideograms of his family name are inlaid on one of its pillars, and that’s how Mutsu knows they’re finally at destination. His expression behind the dark lenses is indecipherable again.

«Are we entering?» she asks then.

He rouses and nods firmly.

Another fire has been lighted near the main door of that big house; on its base there is wood enough to make it burn long. Inside the building there’s a distant echo of chanted sutras, interrupted by heavy bell tolls.

«Let’s wait here,» he says. «It would be disrespectful if we enter now.»

The very concept of disrespectfulness seems totally extraneous to the Sakamoto she knows; she can’t but wonder what’s happening to him.

«How can I help you?» asks them a woman emerging from one of the internal corridors. Something in her makes Mutsu understand she’s a servant, but she doesn’t understand if it’s for her clothes, or her behavior, or how she didn’t recognize Sakamoto.

«I was looking for Miho,» he replies. «I’m Tatsuma.»

A spark of awareness shines in the eyes of the servant, as if she suddenly understood who’s in front of her. Mutsu sees her bowing her head and leaving the room walking backwards, without adding more words.

Accommodating on the tatami, Mutsu looses her hat and puts it on her knees. She watches Sakamoto as he takes off his sunglasses; it’s amazing how he could still see in such half-light, but it doesn’t surprise her anymore. Their gaze is fixed on the sliding panel over which the woman disappeared.

They wait a few minutes, just the time it takes to study the elegant furnishing of the room, then a silhouette peeks out from behind the thick paper of the shojis. Given the formality of the servant, Mutsu thought everybody else in the house would have been equally ceremonious; the newcomer, instead, makes the panel shift with a sudden movement, leaning forward to enter the room before announcing her presence.

«Tatsuma,» she calls, and gazes at Mutsu straight into her face. In her peripheral vision, Mutsu sees Sakamoto smile. «Tatsuma!» she calls again, now finding the right person.

«Hello, Miho! Hahahaha!»

«Good heavens, is that really you,» she comments, rushing to embrace him. She’s so small, and he’s so big even by sitting, her hands almost seems those of a child.

Sakamoto laughs again loudly, and it seems he doesn’t know how to react to such a display of affection. «Where have you been? They’ll all be so happy to see you again! Oh, if only…» she says, then changes her subject, «How long will you stay? When will you depart?»

«Just a few days,» he answers, «Until the day after tomorrow. The end of Obon.»

«So you came back for Obon? Oh, Mother will be so happy!»

Mutsu listens to their conversation with no will to interfere; then she reminds of the sweets she brought as a gift and she decides it’s the right moment to offer them, just as in any trade negotiation. «It’s for you,» she says, holding out the decorated box to Miho during the first moment of silence.

Miho looks at her without saying a word; she smiles and accepts the packet, then puts it aside, leaning toward Mutsu to take a closer look.

«She’s so cute!» she comments, pointing to Sakamoto, her face in her hands. «You’re so cute, you know?»

Sakamoto smiles happily. «Isn’t it?» he says to his sister, as if the merits were all about him. Even if Miho’s small hands are still holding her face, Mutsu doesn’t lose her opportunity to punch him so hard he falls sideways.

«Come in, come in!» she invites them, freeing Mutsu’s cheeks. «The celebration is still going on.»

«We better not go, Miho,» he replies. «We’ll wait here. There’s no problem.»

«Don’t be silly, you’re still part of this family. You have our same rights and our same duties. And now get up,» she orders, peremptory, on her feets, «It’s going to get finished in a bit.»

As to give her reason, the bell chimes another heavy tolling; Miho slides the shoji, revealing a long, brightly lit corridor.

«Come on, Tatsuma. And…»

«Mutsu. My name’s Mutsu.»

«Mutsu, then. Please, this way.»

Miho takes them through the different wings of that huge house; they pass through the yard up to another building. Sakamoto talks with his sister, always keeping an eye on Mutsu. She follows silently.

Eventually, Miho hushes Sakamoto alighting a finger on her lips. The chanting of sutras is now way more intense; voices are louder, and the vibrations of the tolling ring through the floor to the soles of Mutsu’s bare feet.

They bend down on their knees on the patio, before entering, then slip on polished woods behind the gathered crowd; they’re mostly women and children, and servants, both young and old.

Sakamoto’s gaze is straight forward. Mutsu follows its path and fixes hers on the gestures of the man in front of everybody else; from his tinkering she deduces he’s the celebrant, or something like that.

«He’s my husband,» Miho whispers to her brother, and he shudders; probably he wasn’t aware of the news of her wedding.

The man kneels before the altar against the back wall; when he lifts his head, the chanting of the sutras stops and the bells get mute.

«Welcome back,» he says, «On behalf of this family, I welcome you. Welcome home.»

Mutsu guesses that’s another part of the celebration, and probably the man is greeting the spirits of their ancestors or something like that, but she understands that Miho insisted them to come this far to have Sakamoto listen to those words. Their intertwined fingers gives her confirmation.

 

*

 

«You must go to greet Mother, Tatsuma,» Miho says at the end of the ceremony, inviting them to get out before anybody else. «The rest can wait. I’ll accompany you to her rooms immediately, so you’ll be there when she returns.»

As they’re walking the wide external corridors towards the opposite wing of the house – Miho beside her illustrating stories, Sakamoto with his eyes studying every room like he never saw any of them before – Mutsu can’t help but compare its dimension to that of their flagship. She always lived in spaces organized in every centimeter, in rooms where every corner had its function; that enormous house, instead, seems to flaunt an unjustified void.

Sakamoto’s Mother room is wide, too, but unlikely any other it’s also richly decorated with myriads of furniture and knick-knacks. Miho makes them sit in front of a low table; from the slight opening between the shojis they can glimpse an interior garden.

«Just wait here,» she says. «I’ll go greet her. Do you have an accommodation for the night?»

«Actually we don’t, hahahaha!»

Mutsu’s headache starts throbbing again. «Didn’t you forewarn them?»

Sakamoto laughs instead of answering and she punches him again.

«No problem, no problem, this house is so big!» Miho says. «I’ll ask the servants to prepare some futons for you, then.»

She leaves the room murmuring something intelligible to herself. They’re alone again. At the first tinkle of the fuurin hanging from the ceiling of the patio, Sakamoto falls flat on his back.

«I’m gonna throw up,» he says, his eyes closed, his hand on his stomach.

«We’re gonna make one of our ships collect us to return back, and I won’t listen to a word about it,» she replies, even knowing the train probably isn’t the main reason of his nausea.

«Maybe I’ll go looking for a toilet.»

«Don’t be silly.»

«Maybe I’ll throw up in the garden,» he says, dragging himself towards the shoji. Mutsu holds his ankle and pulls him backwards.

He’s still lying on the wooden pavement when the external panels flow on their lanes and a woman figure emerges from the patio. She’s wearing a black kimono with a pattern of goldfishes embroidered on its bottom, and she’s so tall Mutsu can’t see the folded cloth beneath her obi.

Sakamoto looks up and immediately tries to get up, but the woman puts her hand on his head and pushes him back downwards. She points her gaze on Mutsu and sits right in front of her, at the other end of the table.

«You brought back this stupid son of mine,» she says. «I suppose I should thank you.»

«To be honest, I just remember bringing some sweets. Everything else has been just a consequence.»

«Are you his wife?»

«Absolutely not. I would never marry him,» she replies candidly.

«Mutsu, you’re so cruel!» he protests, his eyes finally pulling away from the floor. When he sits back again next to Mutsu, his mother pushes his head down again on the table.

«He’s just like his father. Fast brain on business only, and no respect for those who must abide his decisions.»

«He’s a womanizer too.»

«Just like his father again.»

«You’re still the same too, Mother,» he intervenes. He looks at her with his head still bowed, raising his eyes only.

«This girl seems way smarter than you.»

«She is, hahahaha!»

Mutsu hears his laughter and remains unfazed. «He’s also very loud, Madam.»

«Just like his father.»

They are interrupted by footsteps from the inside corridor; the shojis slide open again and Miho enters hastily.

«What a mess, you’re already here!» she protests like a spoiled child. «I wanted to be the first to tell you!»

«Miho, you underestimate me. I’ve already seen them at the celebration.»

«Hahahaha, I’m sorry for the delay, Mother!» Sakamoto intrudes, his face finally toward the woman. They study each other for a long moment, without another word.

«You came back with the spirits of the dead and pretend everything still is as you left it,» she says finally. «Looks like another illusion of Obon.»

For the first time since they set foot in there, Sakamoto really smiles.

«I suppose you have several things to tell me,» she says.

 

*

 

That’s not a business visit, so Mutsu guesses she has no duty nor right to stay and hear their conversation. Probably Miho recognizes her thoughts, as she insists to accompany her to the room she prepared.

«Everything’s still the same in here,» she says, making her sit down. «Just like it was.»

The room is not as big as Madam’s, but it’s still very wide indeed, divided on the inside by thinner sliding panels. One side is on the same internal garden they saw before from the patio. There’s an atmosphere of familiarity Mutsu can’t explain; everything is much less impersonal than in the other rooms.

Miho greets her from the corridor and shows her the food she made the servants prepare; she imagined they hadn’t eat yet, given the hour they arrived. Mutsu isn’t very hungry, but gratefully acknowledges her.

She’s alone and she doesn’t know what she should do; she doesn’t feel like working on her papers again, as there’s no urgency to fix. She doesn’t get much free time when she’s onboard, as her off duty hours are always filled with business matters or problems on someone’s escapades. (Alternatively, if he’s not out, she’s anyway too busy avoiding his constant chatter.)

She wears clean clothes and then tries every food on the plates. It’s nothing she dislikes, but she’s used to more pronounced flavors. Somebody brought their suitcases at the other side of the room. They laid the futons too, one for her and one more for Sakamoto, putting them close. She thinks Miho’s misunderstanding is obvious; after all, the only one who asked them about the matter was their mother.

When she’s done eating she separates the futon, leaving a space for the walkway between the one and the other, then she relaxes on the one furthest from the garden. Over the shojis, behind the rice paper, the bright halo of the moon illuminates walls and ceiling. Mutsu closes her eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She wakes up and there’s light outside; sun rays enter from the slit between the panels and hit her face. She tries in vain to turn around on the other side, but in the end she gives in and she gets up to close the shojis. They slide silently on their lanes and their edges collide with a slight sound, wood against wood. The weak light makes her understand it’s still early; the house is surrounded by total silence.

Sakamoto is sleeping on his futon, even farther from the space where she had moved it. His arms and legs protrude over the edge of the mattress. That’s not the first time she has seen him asleep, but as the years pass he’s messy more and more; at least this time his mouth is closed. He’s wearing one of the light yukatas that had been left on the dresser; hers is still neatly folded near her futon.

Sleep is far gone, so she sits down next to him. She likes him way more when he’s quiet; she must tell him sooner or later, so he’ll tell her she’s cruel and leave her alone for a while.

She reaches out to fix the fabric heaped on his neck and she feels him stretch under her touch. His smile makes its way after the first yawn.

«Good morning,» he says, breaking the spell of silence. «Did you sleep well?»

Mutsu nods with the very same expression. «Miho has been so kind.»

«I’ll ask her to prepare another room for tonight,» he says. «I didn’t know she took you here. I would have gone sleeping somewhere else, but there was nobody around to ask, hahahaha!»

She shrugs. «It’s ok. It’s comfortable here.»

«It’s my room, you know. I didn’t think Mother maintained it.»

Mutsu relaxes in one of her rare smiles. «Have you been making peace?»

«She’s still so angry.»

«Seems like she has all the rights,» she says, reaching out again to arrange the folds on his collar. «How long did it take you to come back?»

«Ten years.»

«And what about your father’s funeral?»

There’s no reply from him, so she wonders it’s one of those thing she should have better not asked at all. So she changes her topic. «Have you met somebody else? Besides Miho and your mother, that’s it.»

He shakes his head. «Kazuhiro is in Kobe, Yuichi in Sapporo, although their families are here. Too bad I wouldn’t recognize them, hahahaha!»

«Don’t say things by halves. Are they relatives?»

«My brothers.»

«I didn’t know you had brothers. You never talk about them.»

«That’s ‘cause Miho is my favorite.»

She doesn’t know if it’s a lie, but she lets it pass. That topic won’t bring any good either – and she feels kind of stupid as she keeps on changing subjects, not being used to talk at all.

«It’s hot, isn’t it,» she says in the end, and it’s not an empty cliché; sun light passing through the rice paper already warmed up the straw of tatamis.

«Yeah. Looks like I’m not used to it anymore, either» he comments, scratching his shoulder and messing up his collar again.

They fall silent. Sakamoto stretches his arms on his pillow and there he lies, face to ceiling, lost in his thoughts.

«I’m sorry to disturb.» A voice whispers over the corridor shojis. «Sorry to disturb.»

The voice repeats it again and again, and nobody enters the room until Sakamoto sits up and gives his permission.

The small figure of a young girl emerges from behind the panel. She crosses the invisible border of the room with forearms only, head still bowed, and lays a voluminous bundle of cloth on the tatami. «Madam did prepare some clothes for you.»

«That wasn’t necessary, hahahaha!»

The girl’s shoulders wince slightly at the sound of his laughter, and Mutsu feels her headache reborn on her temples. «Sorry to disturb you,» the servant whispers again, closing the shojis with a perfectly calibrated movement.

They both fix the bundle until Sakamoto gets up to recover it; he loosens the knots of cloth, revealing some light colored clothing.

«Hahahaha,» he laughs again, «Hahahah-»

«What?»

«I guess Mother wants us to wear it, hahahaha!»

«Obvious. She wouldn’t have them carried here otherwise.»

«That’s it… but…» he replies, stretching the yukata prepared for him, «How should I say it… It’s terrible, Mutsu.»

He isn’t wrong: the fabric of that yukata is stiff, rough; it seems just like the kind used for the sacks of grains they sometime happen to carry on board. «Your Mother has a brilliant brain for sure» she comments.

«You’re cruel! You only say it because it’s not for you.»

«I did nothing to offend her.»

He sighs and hands her the other folded yukata. «Take it. And don’t feel forced to wear it.»

«You only say it ‘cause it would give her an excuse to be angry with me too.»

He laughs again and she covers her hears. She studies in silence the pattern of curve lines decorating the fabric; some complicated ideograms enclosed on a round frame are embroidered on the upper part, just above the space for the obi.

«That’s our family crest,» he explains, catching her gaze.

«Can I keep my hat on?»

«They won’t say a thing.»

«I’ll wear it, then,» she decides. «But you’ll need to help me tie the obi.»

Sakamoto smiles.

 

*

 

«Take some more, don’t be shy!» Miho says, handling her the third bowl of rice. She’s hungry, so she accepts it without a word.

Sakamoto is sitting next to her and he spends most of the breakfast time scratching his arms and legs under the coarse fabric of his yukata.

«I guess you have some commitments for today,» Miho says, «But anyway, is there anything you want to do while you’re here?»

«Hadn’t thought ‘bout it, actually. Hahahaha!»

«We’re not that busy. We should better call Granny and ask her if everything’s ok with returning ships, but then we’re done.»

He nods. «Yup. It will just take a few minutes.»

Miho smiles. «I’m so happy. It means we can be together for the remaining time.»

Mutsu catches a glimpse of movement on her right; the head of a boy emerges from below the rise on the patio. He’s six or seven; his curious eyes study them quietly until Miho notices his presence.

«There’s no good in peeking, Daiki,» she scolds him, and his head disappears. She points to Sakamoto. «He’s Kazuhiro’s second son. Besides him there are a older girl and a younger boy. You’ll surely meet them later.»

«They’re three,» he says, amazed.

«Yuichi already has four.»

«So they’re… seven? Hahahaha!»

«Yuichi’s wife is so beautiful! She hasn’t lost a single shred of the splendor she had when she was younger. Maybe you remember her. She’s Eiko, Takenaka’s eldest daughter.»

«Eiko! She was mine! He stole her!»

Miho laughs, her hand covering her mouth, as if his answer genuinely amused her. Mutsu gobbles another bite of rice.

«What about you, Mutsu,» she asks then, «Where are you from? I guess you’re from this area as well. Your accent is so familiar.»

«No, I’m not. I took it from him.»

«That’s so romantic! So you’re married since a long while.»

Sakamoto intervenes before she could do it herself. «We’re not married. Mutsu, why do they all think we’re married?»

«You’re not?»

«Maybe it’s because you didn’t bother telling them anything at all.»

«You’re not married?» she asks again, paler and paler. «Oh, good heavens. The futon I had prepared…» Her cheeks are purple as she stands up. «I am immensely sorry, Mutsu. I thought…»

«Never mind,» she cuts short. «There’s no problem, believe me.»

«It was very inconvenient for me to jump to conclusions.»

«He wouldn’t have dared anyway.»

Sakamoto hides his embarrassment with his face buried in his bowl of rice. He keeps on laughing, spreading grains around. «Miho, what were you thinking? Hahahaha!»

«So, does this mean you’ve known each other for a long time?» she asks, then she bows her head. «Sorry, I didn’t want to be inappropriate.»

«We’re companions,» he explains, his gaze searching that of Mutsu. «Travel companions. And business partners, as Kaientai is equally mine and hers.»

His words surprise her; for the first time in a very long while, Mutsu blushes.

«How exciting! So Mutsu comes from a family of merchants as well!»

«Something like that, yeah» he nods.

All of a sudden, Miho shudders. «Oh my, I’m such a fool! I almost forgot it!» She stands up to retrieve something on the top of a piece of furniture. Mutsu recognizes the box of sweets she had bought as a gift. «I put it up here to save it from the children, and then I totally forgot. Would you like to come with me to the altar?»

Sakamoto scratches his neck and nods. «Yeah, sure. Mutsu, you come too?»

She lays her bowl on the table and confirms.

 

*

 

 

The altar room in the secondary building is crowded; it seems like people kept celebrating all night long. Mutsu guesses that’s another of the strange customs for the festival.

There’s a myriad of different plates before the altar, all filled with a variety of different foods; she recognizes the dinner from the day before and their breakfast goodies. The room is full of voices; the atmosphere is all but gloomy, totally different from that she had imagined.

Miho lights up a stick of incense, then unwraps the sweets box and studies its content.

«Dad liked chocolate best, isn’t it?» says Sakamoto.

Miho nods. «He always had such weird taste. I hope ancestors will like chocolate sweets as well.» Her small hand carefully places the larger pastry on an empty plate, then puts it near the altar. «Enjoy your meal» she says.

«Enjoy your meal,» Sakamoto echoes, and Mutsu repeats along.

 

Miho leads them to a quiet room, furnished like an office or a studio, with a telephone and all they need to work. Although they planned it to be a fast communication, they end up spending the whole morning trying to make a contact with the fleet. Once the contact had been established, they need to arrange the million problems that seem to have emerged in that one single day of absence. None of the ships had been damaged, but one of their customers was dissatisfied with their service, and mediating things from such a distance is even more complicated.

Sakamoto scratches his whole body, laughs loudly, scratches once more and sometimes (but just sometimes) says something useful. Outside temperature rises as the hours pass, but the fabric of her yukata is fresh on her skin. Sun rays are well shielded behind shut shojis.

The matter seems to settle at the end, and Seventh Division leaves for its delivery, and suddenly it’s lunchtime already. Sakamoto’s skin is hopelessly flushed in all points in direct contact with his raw yukata and he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Miho calls them when food is served.

Sakamoto enters the room and his mother watches him with a smug expression on her face; she greets Mutsu with a nod of her head and invites them to sit down with the others. They dine together with all of his family; it’s a surprisingly large number of people and Mutsu wonders again about the real dimension of that house, and about how they hadn’t meet a single person until then. On the other side of the table, a group of children studies them with curious eyes; Mutsu recognizes Daiki, the nephew who had been spying them that morning.

The bravest of the children, showing off his role of older cousin, finally takes the floor. «Can you really drive a spaceship?»

Sakamoto struts immediately, jumping to his feet with hands on his hips. «Sure, hahahaha! And not just one. I have a whole lot of spaceships!»

One of the women laughs at hearing him, and from her elegant face features Mutsu guesses she’s Eiko, the daughter-in-law Miho had been talking of.

«Tatsuma, please sit down,» his mother scolds him. «And don’t foment the children.»

«Sorry, Grandmother,» the boy says, «I’ve been inappropriate.»

«I guess I’d better be doing some presentation, although it seems you already know everything,» she continues. «Eiko, Rie, children. He’s Tatsuma, my stupid youngest son.»

One of the smaller girls chuckles. «Grandmother just said _stupid._ »

«And she’s Mutsu, and she’s a guest. Treat her with respect.»

«Nice to meet you» says one of the women gently. She’s probably Rie, the one Madam named before; the wife of Sakamoto’s second brother. «I hope you’ll both be fine here.»

She bows her head slightly, then says, «Thank you.»

Madam, then, talks again. «And now, let’s eat. Enjoy your meal.»

«Enjoy your meal!» repeat the children in choir, hurrying to collect their sticks.

«Ah, Tatsuma,» she adds, her eyes on her son’s. «Now you can go and get changed, if you please.»

  
*

 

«You’ve been so cruel eating up everything» cries Sakamoto, laying with eyes closed on the tatami of their room. He’s now wearing a narrow meshed yukata, simple and unadorned. «I thought Mother had been kind for once.»

Mutsu is sitting next to him, her eyes running on the notes she took in the morning; she’s confronting facts and figures with the documents she brought along.

«I suppose I could learn lots of things from her.»

«Please don’t,» he mumbles, rolling to lie on his stomach. He twists his arm and starts scratching his neck again. «I’ll never get over it!»

«You would be better not touch it.»

«It’s impossible. Can’t do.»

She sighs, then grabs his wrist and press it on the tatami. «You’d better try.»

He starts scratching himself with the other hand, and she sighs again before trapping it too just under her knee.

«It itches so much, Mutsu,» he complains, legs shaking.

«Come on, you can do it.»

He moans with such insistence that reading becomes absolutely impossible; that sound makes her headache grow no less than his laughter, so she lets him go and he starts scratching again.

«Miho asked us to help her out this afternoon,» she says. «She need to go to the village and buy some fruit. She needs somebody to come along and bring it home.»

«No problem,» he replies, rolling back and forth on the tatami. He points at the papers. «Are you coming along?»

«As you prefer.»

«Please do.»

«I’ll need to finish this up fastly, then,» she comments. «So shut up.»

«You’re cruel, Mutsu,» he protests, but he eventually stops on his back, his hands clasped under his head.

Silence finally descends; for some minutes the acute tinkling of the fuurin hanging on the patio is the only sound breaking the stillness of the afternoon. Sakamoto could be asleep, if only he wasn’t so composed.

«Mutsu,» he calls her when she has just finished the last calculation. She looks up and sees him scratching his neck again. His face is turned to the other direction. «Will she forgive me? Sooner or later, that’s it.»

Mutsu lays out again the fabric of his messed up collar. She lets her hand slip beneath the cloth and scraps the red patches on his behalf.

«She’s doing it already,» she tells him, and she’s sincere.

 

*

 

«Watermelons!» says Miho, «Big watermelons! We will need five or six at least!»

Sun is hidden behind treetops, but sun rays make the air stuffy; cicadas chirping grows in intensity by the minute. Mutsu is wearing gloves under the broad sleeves of her yukata, her feet hidden by tabi. She watches Miho’s enthusiastic face from under her hat and mentally calculates that, for a limited weight such as that of five or six watermelons, she alone would have been enough. She doesn’t blame Miho for underestimating her strength; she has no idea of Mutsu’s true nature, since it’s another of those unnecessary information they omitted without ulterior motives.

«Better be seven or eight!» Sakamoto shouts.

«Don’t overdo it,» his sister scolds him mildly.«Don’t forget the festival. Everybody’s going to keep some free space for tonight. Everybody loves food stalls, isn’t it?»

«A festival?»

«Sure,» Miho answers, turning to her. «Obon festival. I thought they had Obon festivals in all villages.»

Mutsu shakes her head. Actually, it seems kind of weird to celebrate so cheerfully for dead people, not so happy by definition, but she keeps it for herself. «Sorry. I’ve never heard about it before.»

«Auntie! Wait for us!» calls a voice.

One of the girls they had met during lunch is running towards them, immediately followed by another child. They pass through the entrance gate and three more boys come in pursuit. «We are coming too!»

They all rush toward Miho, carefully avoiding both Mutsu and Sakamoto; maybe they’re intimidated by the indecipherability of his eyes behind sunglasses, or perhaps by Mutsu’s serious face, or possibly by the air of strangeness they still retain. The smaller girl – she’s two, or maybe younger – is slower than the others, but she reaches the group with great commitment. «What about your mothers permission?» Miho asks them.

«She said we could come along. We’re gonna help you!»

The group suddenly becomes numerous. Children tell them of a million different things, without any logic, from the most trivial to the most important: they go from the cake they ate the day before to the goldfishes they caught at the previous year festival, and then they babble about their family dog and its alleged intelligence.

One of the boys falls down, driven by another one, and he starts crying for his scratched knee; Miho takes him in her arms and the other children sing a song to comfort him. Their tone is so strong it even covers the chirping of cicadas. Sakamoto, who had been quiet until then, softly hums the song lyrics following their rhythm; he forgets some words but he reminds the verses sequence from first to last, even when the chorus changes its pace and seems to follow a different melody.

They’re almost at destination and Miho is flushed and tired to the weight of the boy, so Mutsu offers to take her place. He doesn’t seem pleased with her offer, but he changes his mind when he finds out the alternative is to walk up to the village.

The little girl clings to Sakamoto’s yukata and pulls it to get his attention; he freezes, not knowing what to do, and gazes towards Mutsu in a clear call for help.

«Just take her,» she says, and she feels quite stupid, given the evidence of the whole situation. Sakamoto recoils slightly; the girl’s hands are still clawed to the fabric, so she follows him with a few short steps. She looks at him blankly, not daring to say a thing, probably sensing his tension.

«Come here to me, Akie-chan,» calls Miho. «I’ll take you.»

Akie lets go of her grip, but her eyes are still on Sakamoto while she backs to her aunt.

«Sorry, Akie-chan,» he says. His laugh is awkward.

Miho bends down to retrieve Akie. «Please tell me it’s not for that thing with Yuichi again.»

«Course not, hahahaha!» he replies evasively, then walks three steps ahead to destination.

 

«I’m no good with children, isn’t it? Hahahaha!» he tells Mutsu when they’re home again. They’re sitting in the living room, waiting for Miho to return from the kitchen.

«No need to justify with me.»

«It’s because they’re so _small_.»

«They’re children. It’s natural,» she says, feeling stupid again.

«No, it’s…» he tries to explain. «Don’t they look like you could crush them by mistake?»

She’s about to say she would be perfectly able to crush him too, and that any random children would be no more difficult, but she’s not sure that’s the right thing to say in such a moment. So she speaks by experience. «You just need to be careful.»

«Dad was so small, too. As small as Miho. He was so tiny, hahahaha!» he says, and his gaze wanders over the edge of the patio, on the surface of the koi pond. «But he never broke, not even once. He was so smart, and had such a powerful brain he never had to go to blows.»

«You’re not that similar, then.»

«Mutsu, you’re so cruel!»

« What about Yuichi? Is he the one you crashed?»

«Hahahaha, you guessed right» he replies. «It happened by mistake. I must have pulled a bit too hard or something. His arm settled with no further problems, but he never let it pass. He was eight years older than me and I was four inches taller already, hahahaha!»

«No wonder, if he’s like Miho too.»

He pauses for a moment. «Just a bit taller. As tall as you when we first met» he explains, gesturing with his hand against his chest to guess the right measure. «But you never looked like somebody easy to crush.»

«I’ve never been.»

He’s pleased, and he smiles; his shoulders finally relax. Then Miho comes back from the kitchen together with their mother and Sakamoto falls silent again, and they get up with no other words.

  
  
*

 

«Such a fuss.»

Sakamoto listens to her comment and then laughs loudly. Mutsu covers her ears with both hands. Even so, the beating of taikos is so strong and deep to shake her eardrums and boom in her skull as one of her usual headaches.

Evening air is fresh and smells of good food, but when wind stops blowing heat comes back to bite; people crowding the aisles between the stalls make the night even more suffocating. Lanterns illuminate the braziers of meat and fish. A mask seller invites them to enter his shop and see his wares. Down the street, past the red lacquered Torii, a long stairway climbs to the main temple of the village.

«So, what are we gonna do?» Sakamoto asks, still scratching his skin. His yukata is not the same as before; the one he wears now is dark and traced with a pattern of leaves and  bamboo canes. Mutsu changed hers too: the fabric of the yukata she’s wearing is so thin it’s almost imperceptible, decorated in its full length by a complex web of camellia flowers. (Miho helped her to get prepared; Mutsu had to give up on gloves and tabi, but at least she successfully opposed to her weird hairdo proposals.)

«Dunno,» she replies, truthfully. «What should people do at this kind of festivals?»

«Well, first they eat, hahahaha!»

«Do they have those fish-shaped sweets too?»

«Sure! I think Yamaguchi’s older son…»

The beats of taikos cover his words; a great clamor grows from the crowd. More instruments add to the drums. People gather around a raised stage placed in the large square in front of the temple, clapping their hands at the rhythm of the strokes.

«Let’s go!» Sakamoto says, polling the sleeve of her yukata just below her wrist. Mutsu studies the scene as they approach: it looks like people are dancing, but the whole movement sequence of their bodies is nothing short of ridiculous.

«No way I’m coming along,» she replies when he asks her to join.

Miho emerges from the dancers crowd, and two of the children are with her; they are repeating that strange sequence of moves too. Miho calls her after whispering with Sakamoto, «Mutsu! Want me to teach you?»

«I’ll be watching from here.» Miho nods and then smiles towards her brother.

They are swallowed by the flood of people. Mutsu sees them emerge just once in a while, all four gesticulating weirdly; at some point it even looks like they’re miming something. It takes her a while to realize Sakamoto seems to be digging the ground with an invisible shovel; Miho throws and withdraws fishing nets on her imaginary boat, aided by a host of women. It’s a strange sight. For the umpteenth time since her arrival on Tosa, Mutsu can’t tell what’s the meaning of it all, but it’s so ridiculous it’s not even worth fretting about. Immersed in that great chaos of sounds and people, Sakamoto laughs loudly and Mutsu feels he’s serene for the first time in days, so nothing’s wrong at all.

  
  
*

  


«Here we are!»

Sakamoto is panting, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. Mutsu follows him slowly on the last steps of the stairs; she had a hard time getting up there too, not much for the route, way more for the yukata enveloping her legs tightly.

«What’s this place?»

«A minor shrine,» he says. «I used to come here to make offers.»

The building is lighted only by the brazier next to the offers tables; they’re pretty much alone, except for the monks reciting their sutras over the oracle grids and the old ladies kneeled on their cushions, praying.

«Come on. This way.»

She follows him to the staircase on the opposite side of the hill; it’s even steeper than the one they came from. She wonders where he plans to take her, but then she sees him sit down on the first step and pull something out of the sleeve of his yukata.

«That’s for you.»

A taiyaki emerges from the packet; it’s the fish-shaped cake they had talked about.

«Red beans or sweet potatoes. You choose.»

«Red beans,» she decides with no hesitation. She sits two steps lower than him, next to his foot.

They’re silent as they munch their taiyaki; the view from up there lets them see most of the village decked out with lanterns. The fires for the dead burn outside each house, marking a route running through all of the streets. Cicadas’ chirp is less intense than during the afternoon; air is cooler and carries the scent of the nearby sea.

«It’s good to be here.»

«Are you going to stay?» she asks.

Her question surprises him; he hesitates for a moment before taking another bite of his taiyaki. «No. No way.»

«You can stop a few days more. Your mother would be happy about it, and Miho too. I’ll take charge of the Kaientai while you’re gone.»

«You already do.» He smiles. «No, Mutsu. Also, I’m not sure I would be able to stay here on my own.»

She tries to see his face, but his gaze is far gone, fixed on the sky full of stars. «I tried. Last year.»

«For the funeral.»

«I’ve been at the temple for the ceremony» he whispers, «But being back home is just another whole matter.»

«No wonder your mother got so angry.»

«Hahahaha, I hoped she didn’t notice me! But she has eyes in the back of her head too.»

They fall silent again. Far away, in a village across the river, the steady beat of drums starts once more.

«Mutsu» he calls then. «I’ve always wanted it. To go to space, you know. And it’s Kintoki who made me do it for real. Because he’s been the one saying he’d be here to catch me if I was going to fall back down, to throw me up there again.»

He smiles. «Such good words, isn’t it? And the best part of it is knowing he’d really do it.»

She nods. «I think so, too.»

«Nobody had ever told me something like that before. Yuichi and Kazuhiro have always been working with dad, and they all expected me to do the same. Just imagine: three sons, three new subsidiaries, the company growing more and more. That’s why they didn’t like my decision. That’s why I ended up thinking: I won’t be returning, as there’s nobody here who’s going to catch me and get me up there again.»

His gaze is lost again between the stars. «But now… It’s like I’m starting to think that it’s quite the opposite, in fact.»

Mutsu looks out for his hand and holds it in the dark. The distant murmur of sutras comes echoing from the shrine rooms.

«You’re such a stupid son,» she says.

He laughs. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She wakes up with his arm laid across her stomach, just above the soft fabric of her night yukata.

When they returned back they had found their futons in the exact position they left them in the morning, well apart from each other; Mutsu therefore concludes Sakamoto had again moved in his sleep. The weight of his arm doesn’t give her any discomfort, so she decides there’s no reason to move it.

«You’re so quiet you seem a different person,» she whispers, and she reminds thinking the exact same just the previous day. She’s no longer sure she prefers this version of him.

He keeps on sleeping, so she closes her eyes again.

 

They’re still lying close when she opens her eyes for the second time; but he’s awake now, and he’s watching her, and his arm is still resting across her stomach.

«Good morning!» he says happily as soon as he sees she’s conscious. «Did you sleep well?»

«Dunno. I feel like someone had been a bit too close.»

He laughs and he draws her even closer in response, pulling her on purpose to sink his face on the crook of her neck. Her punch is quite automatic, but he’s so used to be hit it doesn’t make any effect.

«You’re so soft,» he comments. Mutsu blushes and clings to his hair and pull with all the strength in her body. But he laughs again, loud as usual, and he says «Thanks, Mutsu,» and their weird fight turns into some kind of grateful hug and she doesn’t know what she should do nor what she shouldn’t. So she stays there, and his hug is not unpleasant at all, just like his arm across her stomach before; and for that same token she thinks that maybe there’s not even a real reason to escape, and her body becomes less tense.

«Sakamoto» she says, and she finds her courage only in the certainty he wouldn’t see her face, «You should tell them too. Miho, and your mother. All of the things you told me last night.»

She feels stupid and inappropriate, as she has never been good at giving neither judgments nor advices. Even after saying it, she wonders if she did right on her suggestion, as she didn’t have any rights to do so.

He nods and his hair tickles her face. His cheek is smooth and surprisingly fresh against her neck.

«I will.»

 

*

 

He leaves the room before breakfast, without even changing from his night yukata, and Mutsu is alone again. Half of the morning passed already, but sun rays are less intense than the previous day; the wind blows through trees and slightly ripples the water surface of the pond. Shojis are vibrating on their lanes.

A servant brings her a platter; Mutsu eats some white rice and grilled fish silently, then she pulls out her papers and starts working on tables and statistics. She doesn’t meet anybody till lunchtime, but she’s too absorbed by work to notice.

It’s children voices in the hallway to shake her from her thoughts; she looks up from her accounting book when someone repeats «Sorry to disturb, sorry to disturb.»

«Please enter,» she answers. She hears them argue over who should open the shoji; Daiki, the nephew that had been peering them the day before, loses it and enter first.

«Miss,» he says, «If you’re alone we can stay with you.»

She doesn’t know if theirs is an independent initiative or if someone made them do it, but she doesn’t feel like refusing their invitation. Work can wait. She thinks back to Granny and to the souvenirs she promised to bring her.

«Could you take me to the village?» she asks, closing her book and putting it near her futon.

Daiki consults with the elder child – she doesn’t know if he’s his brother or cousin, but she imagines it’s not of much importance, in a family like that – and then smiles in her direction. «No problem. We can go whenever you like.»

 

On the way, children deluge her with questions about a myriad of different topics: ships, space, weird things she saw while travelling with the fleet, Amantos; Amantos especially, in fact, as it seems their presence is very marginal in Tosa. When she admits in peace she’s an Amanto herself – and part of the most dangerous race of the universe, too – no one believes her, and the whole conversation gets lost in a laugh in front of the first kiosk of sweets.

Somewhere along the way they stop to eat the packed onigiri their mothers prepared; there are a couple for Mutsu too, just a little bigger than the childrens’, and she eats both with genuine appetite. When they’re finished, she buys ice cream for everyone and from that moment onwards she’s one of them.

After choosing the sweets for Granny, their group comes back under a scorching sun. Mutsu is well sheltered under her hat and the layers of clothes, but children aren’t, so she makes them take some breaks in the shade of maples. Seiji, one of the youngest, gifts her an empty shell of a cicada. She carefully tries not to crush it until they’re back.

They escort her to the room in a noisy procession.

«Hahahaha, Mutsu, welcome back!»

His voice greats her the moment she opens the shoji. Sakamoto is sitting on the floor, still wearing the very same night yukata he had when he left in the morning. The papers she had finished compiling are scattered all around him in a mess.

«What are you doing?» she asks, and her tone is anything but friendly.

«Just wanted to work a little, but it looks like I can’t understand a thing, hahahaha!»

Just a glance is enough. «Children,» she calls, «Destroy him.»

She doesn’t even need to say it again. 

 

*

  


«Mutsu, you’re so cruel,» he repeats for the umpteenth time, rubbing his legs; his skin is full of red marks from all of the children’s pinching.

She doesn’t even look at him, too busy studying her documents and putting them back in their place.

«You just messed up whole hours of hard work.»

«I was trying to be helpful, hahahaha!»

She knows his intentions were good, yet she’s too annoyed to accept it as justification. She grumbles some more before being able to put her anger aside and ask him about his mother.

«I told her I’m sorry,» he says, «And Miho just cried the whole time. Hahahaha!»

Mutsu supposes it’s okay.

«Sorry to disturb!» Daiki calls from the hallway. Then, just like his aunt, he rushes over the shoji without waiting their reply. He hands Sakamoto a cloth bundle. «Grandmother told us to give you this.» He then disappears as fast as he’s come, called back by the voices of the other children.

«Maybe she didn’t forgive me at all, hahahaha,» she hears him mumble. He weights the package in his hands; he loosens the knots holding it close, then remains still, both flaps still tightly hold between his fingers.

«Hahahaha,» he says, «Hahahaha.»

His laugh has such a weird tone Mutsu comes close him to peek at the content of the bundle. It’s a dark blue yukata, and when she unfolds it she notes it has no other decoration in addition to those on the chest: some complex characters enclosed in a round frame.

She smiles at his watery eyes.

«I think you should wear it,» she says.

 

*

  


That evening they dine in the large square in front of the temple staircase along with all the people from the village. Sakamoto tells her it’s another of the Obon traditions; it’s an open banquet, so that also forgotten souls or those without descendents could attend it. Among all of the traditions she had witnessed in those last few days, she thinks it’s the saddest but also the most beautiful of them all.

House children, just as Sakamoto, all wear their yukata with family crests; she’s wearing it as well, driven by him and by Miho, and she doesn’t feel as inadequate as she had feared.

Madam watches them all with pride in her eyes and distributes the food to bring to the banquet tables. Mutsu sees her laugh and in her features she finally finds some of her son’s traits.

It’s a happy festival; the constant comings and goings of children from the offers table enliven the banquet even more. The square gradually depopulates; they, too, quietly follow Miho’s husband and Madam eventually making their way to the house. Crowd gathers again in the altar great hall on the secondary building, the very same in which the celebrations began; in addition to family members, servants and house staff are attending again.

Miho’s husband, just like the previous time, bows deeply in the incense smoke. «Thank you for your visit,» he says, addressed to ancestors. «It’s time to go back.»

They all bow their heads to his words. «We will welcome you again next year,» Madam completes, «So please come back and visit us again.»

Children are the first to get up on their feets. Mutsu sees them head back towards the entrance; each of them hold a torch to turn on from the brazier.

A new procession begins; she guesses they’re going all together to the temple on the hill, but when they surpass the stairs she realizes their destination must be a different one. Sakamoto, his gaze on the flame of his torch, is as silent as everyone else.

They stop when they arrive on the banks of the river she saw the night before. Flames become milder; small paper lanterns are now the only lights to illuminate the surroundings. All of the lanterns are traced with ideograms, black ink on white paper. On some Mutsu can read Sakamoto’s family name, followed by other characters she can’t decipher. Children explain her they’re the names of their ancestors; she listens to them talking about long lost relatives and wondering about those people they never met before. In the end, each of them holds a paper lantern.

They descend on the bank and let them go all together; some lanterns clash and then remain close, making their return trip along each other. Sakamoto, under his mother’s watchful eye, releases another lantern on the water surface. They look at it together as it leaves.

Flames march in the dark of the night and then get lost far away, carried somewhere downstream.

  
*

 

The sky is filled with light at the outbreak of the first firework.

Younger children cry, then their eyes immediately upturn; explosions color the black of sky and river, hiding the faint light of the stars. Besides the light clouds, high above Tosa, Mutsu identifies the artificial throb of the admiral ship of Kaientai.

 

«So we’re leaving, hahahaha!»

Sakamoto points the small spacecraft descended to pick them up. Their bags are on board already; Granny is standing in the door entrance.

The whole family had gathered to give them their farewell; children’s attention is all on their ship, but Madam prohibited them to get closer.

Mutsu hears her whisper. «And just like a ghost you leave when Obon is finished. Isn’t it, Tatsuma?»

Miho is teary already, but Madam isn’t; her gaze is determined, and she’s focused on her son’s face.

«Hahahah, I’m not dead yet, though!» he answers, and Mutsu’s headache strikes back at the sound of his loud laughter, as sharp as before the whole trip began.

Madam’s gaze is now on her, but she’s silent, so Mutsu speaks first.

«He’ll be back,» she says. «Even if it means I’ll need to force him.»

Madam smiles her, and thus turns back to her son. «I suppose I should thank you for bringing this girl along, Tatsuma.»

Sakamoto laughs again loudly, so he doesn’t see her turn to Mutsu and tell her softly, «Keep an eye on him.»

That’s why he doesn’t understand the meaning of Mutsu’s short answer.

«I do it already.»

**Author's Note:**

> "Mukaebi" (迎え火) is the name of the welcoming fire for returning spirits lit at home entrance during Obon festival. I love this word so much I can't even tell.  
> I tried my best to describe the various phases of Obon celebration, although I never happened to live it in person. I'm very sorry for any incongruence you may find.


End file.
